I began to think that people must shed a chemical, like an insect pheromone, something in the sweat, in the oil on the skin, in the smell aerosolized by armpit hair and pubic hair, something that swaps around and spreads and gets up people’s nostrils and in their pores, and comforts the brain, the chemical essence of companionship, so that even if you snarl at those people around you, or ignore them, or fight them to the food and the water, and never say a diplomatic word to them, still you feel the mass of human comfort sustaining you.
